


Love of a Thousand Years

by Moss_Rose_10



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moss_Rose_10/pseuds/Moss_Rose_10
Summary: Sherlock fails to say those three little words to Molly at Sherrinford, and Eurus follows through on her threat. Will anything ever be alright again? Inspired by the show Forever from ABC.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 18
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

####  **LONDON, 1897**

No one expected the press announcement to go the way that it did. Dr. Molly Hooper stood to the side, proudly watching Inspector Lestrade detail how he, Dr. Watson, and her fiance, Sherlock Holmes, had caught the latest criminal for the gaggle of newsagents huddled around with their notepads and pencils. It was only by sheer chance that Molly caught sight of the gun another bystander was pulling out of his coat.

Cold fright shot up her spine. "Sherlock, get down," she called, as she bolted towards him, trying to knock him out of the way before it was too late.

It was too late. The gun was too close. She felt the punch of the bullet tearing through her, but it wasn't until the pain set in that she realized it had gone right through her into the man she loved. Lestrade moved immediately to seize the shooter; Dr. Watson provided the best medical care he could- but it wasn't enough.

As their blood intermingled on the cobblestones beneath them, Molly felt the slight squeeze of Sherlock's hand in hers before she passed; little did she know, Sherlock wasn't far behind.

####    
**SHERRINFORD, MODERN DAY**

"...Just say these words-'I love you.'" Sherlock had asked. He stood watching the screen Eurus had set out for them in Sherrinford. Trying to get Molly Hooper to say the three words that would save her life was surprisingly challenging, and time was running out. He struggled to keep the panic from his voice.

She seemed to be cracking and then said, "You say it. Go on. You say it first."

"What?"

"Say it. Say it like you mean it."

"Final twenty seconds," came over the loudspeakers.

Sherlock floundered. He looked back to John in panic, hands spread, question on his face.

"Sherlock, it doesn't matter if it's true! Just say it!" John worried.

Sherlock turned back to the screen. "I- I," he gulped. "I lo-."

The timer went off.

"Oopsie, Sherlock, too slow." Eurus said.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He yelled into the still-open phone line, "Molly, get out-" the line abruptly cut off. "Molly. Molly!" He turned to the screen where Eurus's face was showing, "You don't have to do this. I get it, you win. Don't do this!"

"Rules are rules, brother dear."

Sherlock staggered back into the center of the room, as John stepped forward to grasp his shoulder.

The door into the next room opened. "The next puzzle is ready, Sherlock, time waits for no man, as they say," Eurus' voice piped into the room.

"Come on, Sherlock," John prompted, letting go of his friend as he moved towards the door. Mycroft trailed after the shorter man, leaving Sherlock standing before the coffin. Mycroft and John turned back when they reached the doorway to see Sherlock placing the coffin lid gently on top of the coffin. In a quick moment, Sherlock's hands pounded into the wood, shattering it as he smashed the vessel to pieces.

  


The vivisection was over. Somehow, Sherlock had broken through to his sister in time to save John, but when Lestrade came to help with the scene at Musgrave Hall, the first thing on Sherlock's mind- "Lestrade, send someone to Molly's flat, Eurus said that she-" Sherlock stopped as he saw Lestrade's stillness. "What? Go, send your officers to do something useful for once-"

"Sherlock."

The consulting detective paused.

"She's in hospital. There was an explosion near her flat, so far it's looking like it might be a bomb. She had gotten part way out of the building, but she was still close enough to the blast to be badly hurt…. They're not sure if she's going to make it."

Sherlock's face stilled, a study in frozen thought. "Take me there."

  


Molly's hospital room was silent except for the beeping of machines and monitors. Sherlock could tell as he walked into the room that every breath pained the woman in the bed.

"Molly."

Her eyes opened just enough to see him, and her mouth upturned in a small smile as she struggled to move even that much of her body. "Hello, Sherlock," she whispered.

"You're going to be okay. The doctors will look after you." He stepped to her side, fingers brushing her hand with a desire, but not the will, to take her hand in his own. "We'll get the best- you're going to be okay." Her head began to shake the tiniest bit. Tears started to well in the corners of his eyes. "You need to be okay." His voice broke. "I'm sorry I should have just said- why couldn't I have just-"

"Hey, hey, it's alright." Every word was broken and light as a feather as she struggled getting enough breath to form words. "It wasn't true. It was wrong of me to ask you to say something that wasn't true."

He took in a shaky breath. "But it was true." Molly's eyes widened just a bit. "It has been true for… so long, so long. It frightened me, always has, and you've always paid the price for it, and I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Molly."

"It'll be alright. We have time."

"That's right, Molly." His voice broke as he tried to order her to stay with him. "You keep fighting, do you hear me?"

She shook her head a little once again. "Sherlock, the damage is too much. You know this." Sherlock started to shake his head to deny. "No, you know this, you just don't want to believe it. But Sherlock, Sherlock, look at me," she waited until the detective looked into her eyes again. "When I'm gone, I want you to do something for me, alright." He nodded, desperate to do something, anything that would make her happy in this moment. "When I'm gone, go to the Thames, the closest bit you can get to from here. I don't want you to wait or grieve or take someone for support. Just go. Will you do that for me?"

He nodded with tears in his eyes. "What am I looking for?"

"You'll know when you see it." At his disbelieving expression, she smiled a touch. "Just trust me, you'll know."

"For you, Molly Hooper, anything." Instructions received, Sherlock sat in the chair by her bedside, holding her hand, until her breathing slowed then stopped, and the monitors sounded the flat, mournful sound of a life ended. He gave her hand one final squeeze, then stood up and left the room, headed for the riverbank. As he passed the window to her room, he barely noticed out of the corner of his eye that, from this angle, the bed practically looked as empty as his heart felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and comment! I know, it's a cruel place to leave it, but, rest assured, it won't be a cliffhanger forever and it will have a happy ending. Chapter 2 has been written and hopefully will be posted in the next couple weeks. What do you think Molly wants Sherlock to see? Does anyone have any guesses how the 1897 and modern day scenes are connected? Any other thoughts?
> 
> As you may have noted in the story description, this story is inspired by the show Forever that aired originally on ABC. If you've seen it before, you may have an idea what's happening in chapter 2; if not, well, I guess you'll have to wait until I post chapter 2.
> 
> I don't own Forever, Sherlock, or anything else besides my own ideas and contributions, and I don't make any money from my writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes to the river like Molly requested. What did Molly want him to find? Will it provide any solace for his bleeding heart?

Sherlock practically ran to the riverbank, then found his way to the closest path down to the water's edge. He hoped and prayed he didn't miss what Molly wanted him to wait on. He couldn't be too late, not for her, not again.

He looked over the muddy embankment, taking in every crevice and scrap of debris. Was it something hidden in plain sight that only Molly herself or someone with his deductive skills could find? He gazed over the water, taking in the birds and boats that moved down it, to the far side and the buildings and people that existed as they always did, unknowing and uncaring of the turmoil Sherlock was in. He took in every detail he could, spinning in circles trying to grasp why Molly sent him here.

A flicker of unpatterned movement in the water caught his eye as something bobbed up, breaking the surface of the water. It was too far away to make out, but it was just different enough that Sherlock couldn't help but watch. As the object started getting closer to shore, Sherlock began to make out that it was not an _object_ at all, but another person, arms powering through the water to get close to land. As the person neared, Sherlock made out the brown hair, the bare shoulders and bare… well, he may not be considered the nicest person in London but he was gentleman enough not to stare at _that!_ Soon the features became more distinct. What kind of woman would swim naked in the _Thames_ , of all places? Until, finally, the woman's face was close enough to make out where it came above the water.

"Molly," he breathed, the wind sucked straight out of him. Her face wasn't quite clear yet, but he would know that- know her- He ran down to the shore, shoes and trouser hems getting wet and soggy with the lapping water. She was still far enough away that he tossed his coat beyond the reach of the water and started to wade in, water up to his thighs before he and the pathologist were in front of each other. He grabbed her hands and pulled her upright, flush against him, moving one hand to hold her face as he ran his eyes over it, stared into the brown eyes he had thought were closed for good. His other arm banded around her back, keeping her quickly chilling form close as could be.

"Sherlock," she murmured, arms reaching around him and holding tight.

"Molly," he wondered, "How?"

"I don't know," she laughed, "It just is, has been since the first time. If I die, I come back in the nearest body of water." She shivered in the cold. Apparently, Sherlock's body heat wasn't enough to offset the chill of being pulled from the water.

Feeling the shiver ripple across his own body, Sherlock pulled Molly up into his arms, carrying her as he waded out of the river. He carefully placed her down where it looked like there wasn't any sharp detritus that could hurt her unshod feet, before stepping away to grab his Belstaff, pulling it around her and buttoning it, despite Molly's protests that the dirty water could potentially ruin his coat.

"There," he said as he buttoned the last button, Molly having stopped trying to brush his ministrations off. They were still close to each other, warm breath just brushing each other's cheeks as Sherlock's hands fell from the coat buttons to her waist.

Molly stared up at him. "Did you mean it? At the hospital? If you said it just to comfort to a dying woman, I understand, I do, I just want to-"

Sherlock's hands swept up to her face as his lips stopped hers. The immediate passion quickly gentled to a slow, indulgent kiss. _This is real_ , Molly thought, _this is really real_.

As the kiss slowed then stopped, Sherlock began to pull away just far enough that their faces were no longer touching, swooped in for another peck, and pulled away fully. "Let's get you out of this wind." He swept Molly back into his arms again, grinning.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Where are we going?"

He stopped, thinking about both of their destroyed flats. "I honestly have no idea."

"Well, as long as that's clear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, it gets better; I wasn't going to leave y'all totally depressed. Happy couple is back together; the pain is over with one more chapter to go. So whaddaya think? Did you like the reunion? Are some dots from chapter 1 starting to connect now? I personally love seeing Sherlock as a gentleman, 'cause he really can be when he wants to be. Did you like his chivalrous maneuvers? Comments and reviews are highly appreciated, and hey, if you have questions, I'll take those, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our happy couple tie up loose ends and discuss the future-- fluff ensues.

Sherlock couldn’t remember ever being so content as he lay on the sofa wrapped around Molly in her newly acquired hotel suite. Her head was pillowed on his chest, his arms wrapped around her robed body as they leaned into the sofa arm behind him.

“I’m sorry about your flat,” he murmured into her hair.

“They’re just things, Sherlock, I’ve lost enough things over the years to know that, nice as they are to have, everything goes one day. Besides, most of my really precious things weren’t even kept there anyway.”

“Hmm?” He peered around to get a glimpse of her face. “What do you mean?”

She looked back at him a bit. “I have a country house from ages ago where most of my important memory pieces are. I inherited it when my late fiance’s brother died without children.”

“Fiance?”

Her hand moved over to the area where Sherlock recalled seeing an old scar on her abdomen. “The first time I died, I was trying to protect him from a shooter in the crowd, but we both died anyway. Except, I woke up in the Thames minutes later, and when I went to find him, he was still dead. His brother found me and helped me set up a new life, since there were enough people who had seen me die for me to get away with going back to my old life.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss him.” He pressed a kiss into her hair, tightening his grip around her waist.”

“I do miss him. I loved him deeply. It hurt so much, and only seemed to heal so much until I saw him again.”

“Again?” Sherlock pulled back in confusion. “Do you see him when you--” he gulped. “Well, when you--”

“Die? No,” Molly shook her head. “I can’t explain it, but sometimes people come back, sometimes  _ he _ comes back. It’s not reincarnation because he’s still  _ him _ . He still looks mostly the same, his name is the same, the personality is largely the same. He never remembers any earlier versions like I do. And I don’t think it’s like me, where I just come back and carry on, because he has a whole life and history that's separate each time-- and no, they’re not related. I’ve checked.”

Sherlock quirked a little smile at how cleverly Molly had guessed his last question before he saddened a bit. “So you’re waiting for your fiance to come back to you again, then.” He couldn't help but feel that he had lost her all over again, this time to some nameless, faceless man who had held her heart for time unknown.

For the first time, Molly turned fully around onto her knees. Her hands came up to cup his face, thumbs running over his cheekbones. “I’m not saying this to pressure you, or out of any expectation, I want you to know that.” At Sherlock’s confused face, she took a deep breath and continued, “He’s already come back into my life. My fiance’s name was Sherlock Holmes, and he is the best, and smartest, and bravest man I’ve ever known. And I have loved every version of him that I’ve had the good fortune to know, and I always will.” She kissed small tears off of Sherlock’s face where they had started to brim over. “I love you, Sherlock, and there will never be anyone else for me but you. Every version of you, for every version of me, always, I promise.”

A statement like that couldn’t help but get another kiss as Sherlock held her close. And his kiss felt like a promise of a forever yet to come.

Though his mind felt pleasantly fuzzy as the kiss consumed his senses, slowly a question made its way through his mind.

He pulled away, “Then what about Tom?”

A tinge of pink touched Molly’s cheeks as she looked down, biting her lip. “I had lost three versions of you already and never once had you fully as my own. You always died far too young, in the prime of your days. And this version of you seemed so opposed to the idea of loving me before you left, and I guess I feared that I was never going to see this version of you again, maybe I was never going to have you as mine, maybe never be with you as you grew old, and so I thought maybe it was best to grab some happiness somewhere while I could. But he wasn’t you. He could never be you, so I broke it off.”

Sherlock took her face in his hand and raised her gaze to his. “I’m sorry it took me so long, and that I hurt you so much along the way.”

“Everyone has a path they must take and ways they must grow as they learn to love; I’m just glad I got to watch you take some of that journey.” Sherlock scoffed, clearly not thinking well enough of himself to see the development she spoke of. “No, really, the way you were gentle to Mrs. Hudson, then helping Greg with his cases, your friendship and sacrifices for John and then Mary. I’ve seen your heart shine so brightly it’s a wonder that not everyone can see it as I do.”

“Maybe because you’ve always seen me when no one else could.”

Molly smiled at that, and turned so her back once again nestled firmly against Sherlock’s chest. They stayed like that for some time. Sherlock didn’t know how much time had passed before he wondered, “If I’m the fourth version of me, then how old are you?”

“152.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. First time we died was 1897.”

He pondered this for a moment. “So you were around during the Ricoletti case.”

“Yep.” she popped. “One of the last that that Sherlock worked on before he died.”

“I did?!! I mean- he did, or we, or-- doesn’t matter. How close to the solution was he?”

“Solved it, but was holding onto the answer due to extenuating circumstances, but the shooting happened before he got around to telling the constabulary. Solution died with us, I think, since I wasn’t inclined to try sending an anonymous note and I don’t think he ever told Dr. Watson.”

“Dr.-- John was there?”

“Sometimes people besides you reappear-- John, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, your brother. That first version of you was the closest to this version of you. Same general appearance, same friends and enemies, same profession.”

“Appearance? What changes about my appearance?”

“There was a version of you that was an army captain in World War I; he was blonde.”

“What!” Sherlock’s hands covered his hair as if trying to protect it from such a fate.

“Made it work, though. That was the version of you most different from the first and this one.”

“And will you have to disappear into a new life to keep your secret hidden like the first time?”

“Hmm,” she pulled herself out of the state of dozing she was starting to slip back into, “No, I don’t think so. You were the only one who saw me die; the staff at the hospital don’t know me well enough to recognize me if we met again later, and records are easy enough to change when you’ve had to do it as long as I have. It certainly helped when we had to fake  _ your _ death.”

“But Lestrade knew you were injured, and I’m sure John heard of it.”

“We’ll tell them that my injuries weren’t as severe as originally thought to be. What do you usually say? ‘When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?’ My not having been as badly injured as they thought will be far easier to believe and sound far more probable than any other explanation, so they’ll likely accept it.” With this, Molly seemed disinclined to continue talking as she snuggled into his chest.

Both of them quieted for a bit before Sherlock stirred and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“I should go soon, head over to Mycroft’s so you can properly turn in for the night. The couch is no place to get good sleep.”

Her arms wrapped around Sherlock and held tight. “But I don’t want to let you go, ever.”

His smile turned bittersweet at this thought of, “Molly, you know one day I still will grow old and die. It’s unlikely that this version of me will be here forever with you.”

Molly roused herself to full wakefulness as she pushed herself up to face him. “I know.”

“But I rather relish the idea of spending what time I still have together with you, if you can stand the thought of being with an old man someday.”

“I’ll dye my hair grey to match yours when the time comes.”

Sherlock chuckled and pulled Molly back against himself. “What do you think about bees? I’ve always liked the idea of keeping bees when the time comes that I have to stop being, well, what I am.”

“I have a place that would be perfect for bees.”

“Maybe we’ll make it this time. You can see me doddering along as my faculties slowly desert me,” Sherlock chuckled, then shifted enough to see Molly’s face as he bopped her on the nose, “while you look as beautiful as you are now, maybe more so, patiently helping me through it all as you always have.”

Molly grinned and snuggled into his chest. “I don’t know. I think you’d look rather sexy in a beekeeping suit, grey hair and all.”

\----

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Comments and reviews appreciated. Shout out to a lovely reader who asked about what Sherlock and Molly will tell the others about Molly's recovery for getting me to add that answer to this chapter. Can anyone find my reference to another work of Benedicts's? Do you have a favorite part of the chapter- I know I do! Let me know what yours is!


End file.
